


or took a boat down lethe and fell in

by murg



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask
Genre: Apocalypse, Body Dysphoria, Cotard delusion, Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Male-Female Friendship, Mute Link, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trans Male Character, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, it's majora's mask what do you expect honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-18 13:12:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5929684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murg/pseuds/murg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“No need to be scared,” she says. “The gods here are... They’re merciful. Especially to old people and orphans, I’m pretty sure I’m not making up that part. It won’t hurt. It can’t, at least not for you. It shouldn’t hurt for you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	or took a boat down lethe and fell in

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry they treated you like shit for being a human being.

He’s been in this skin too long. Days too long. That’s the problem. Everything itches in the worst way. He looked to Lady Luna for life advice earlier, but she could only bare her ape teeth and weep angry tears. Now he lies in the grass and blinks up at her. She blots out the sun. He has no neat name for the sun. It doesn’t have a face in its craters, anyways. It doesn’t deserve a name.

He’s young, his skin is raw and new, he is a burn victim, twice scorned. He aches all over. He doesn’t know why. Or he does. He just doesn’t want to think about it. He can't try anymore, that's it. Try what, though. He feels very tired. Like his eyelids are made of wet cement, dripping down his face. He has to keep scooping them away. But more always slides down, dripping over his eyes. Dripping over his fingers, down his chin. It’s drying over his fingers and they’re getting too hard to lift. He feels very tired. He wonders if he is dead. 

“Do you ever think about God?” she says.

No, he thinks and feels serene.

“I do,” she says. “There’s more than one god. There are four.”

Four.

“Four Gods,” she says. “Four for four seasons. Four for four ages. And each has seven different names and six different eyes and four different limbs. They were born when the universe cracked in half. They crawled out of its cooling innards. They took the entrails that they could carry and they forged this world out of them. That’s why we’re all made of flesh and blood and magic and misery.

“Anyways. Uh. They live in the distant stretches of the world, but it’s a blink for them, they could walk the whole way here in minutes. They’re strong, but they shake under the weight of this world. But they’re still really strong and stuff.”

So they hold the world up.

“No,” she says, and he can hear her swallow. What a tiny little sound, but he can hear it. He wonders if he said that aloud. He doesn’t think he did. He couldn’t have, he remembers. Oh. She swallows again after her swallow. “No, they, uh. They hold the world down.”

They hold the world down.

“Way down,” she says. “To stop it from crashing into the ceiling. The firmament? That’s a fancy word for it, I think. A proper god-like word. To stop it from crashing into the firmament. They each hold a corner down. The world is like a tarp, or a quilt. More like a quilt. They have a song that they sing to keep it down, but it’s a mournful song. They only sing it to the most destitute. Old people and orphans, exclusively. It’s low and it’s sweet, it goes like, uh. Uh. Doo. Doo-doo.” She sighs. “I can’t do it.”

That’s alright.

“I can’t,” she says and her voice shakes. “I don’t wanna talk about this. I can’t.”

He shushes at her low and soft, like one would shush a horse or a dog. She swallows again.

“This world,” she says, “is protected by the gods. They love it. That’s why they hold it down, to prevent it from falling up into the firmament. My mom told me that, when I was little.”

Where Lady Luna lies, he thinks. Lady Luna and her weeping.

“There are four gods,” she says, “and they care about what happens to us. The swamp spat you out here into this stupid place, which means that the god of the south chewed you up in its mouth before digesting you here. I think that’s a good thing. It’s an omen, I know that. Am I making sense? I know you’re not from here.”

He blinks at the sky. He remembers the swamp. Then he doesn’t.

“Death is real,” she says. “Gods are mortal. And they make mistakes. They don’t know what we want. Hell, we don’t know what we want. Everything, probably. And the world, it’s. It’s going to fall. Straight up into the-- I mean.”

She sighs. He blinks at the clouds. It’s so hard to keep his eyes open.

“I’m shit at this, I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m supposed to help you forget about all this. Make it less painful. I can’t even do that right, can I? I’ve really failed you the whole way through.”

Forget what? he thinks.

“You know,” she says, “the world almost ended, once. It almost flew straight up into the sky, a really long time ago. The firmament. Whatever.”

He draws his knees up and the skin stretches wrong. It's too tight. He can feel air between the soft, rotting meat of his thighs, caressing the gaping absences in his skeleton. He's encased in a brittle chrysalis. He thinks of, conveniently, nothing.

“It did,” she says. “My mother told me so. You know the four gods with the seven names and all that jazz?”

He nods. His neck slides against the grass, soaked in sweat.

“They tamped the world down,” she says, “but because of that, they wouldn’t be able to stop the sky from falling into the world. You know why?”

He doesn’t know why.

“I don’t know why,” she says. “I made up half of this. My mom never actually talked about any of this. I just.” She sighs. “Someone tried to save them, who wasn’t a stupid seven-mouthed god or whatever. He was just a kid, but he didn't seem to think he was. But he was. Just a kid. And he kept doing the same things over and over. You know what they say about doing the same things over and over? ...Forget that part, don't answer that. He tried to save the world. He didn’t win. Sometimes you can’t win.

“Nobody was mad,” she says, “because he tried very, very hard to save them all. He tried, and that’s all that mattered.”

That’s all that mattered.

“That’s all that mattered,” she says.

He can feel the ground tremble under the soles of his feet. He hums. The pitch is too low to match. He thinks of the song she couldn’t sing.

He thinks of missing people, people who don’t remember him. People who don’t love him. They’ve all packed up their bags and left. He watched them steal away through the window with appropriate shame. Blue. He is aware of a great absence in his body. His skin. He would feel abandoned if he weren’t so tired.

Everyone’s gone away, haven’t they.

“This is the worst bedtime story ever,” she says.

The sun’s still out, he thinks.

“I don’t know if I can do this either,” she says. “Man, I can’t. What do you want from me? I know what you’re thinking.”

That’s interesting, he thinks.

“No need to be scared,” she says. “The gods here are... They’re merciful. Especially to old people and orphans, I’m pretty sure I’m not making up that part. It won’t hurt. It can’t, at least not for you. It shouldn’t hurt for you. It.” She swallows. He hears her choke around air, a little sound. He wants to turn and make sure she’s alright, but his fingers are sealed to his cheeks, just below his eyes. All he can see is Lady Luna. He can’t see the sun anymore. He has no name for the sun. “It shouldn’t,” she says, voice thick.

He really has been in this skin too long. He wishes he could air it out. It feels rubbery and fake, draped over his bones so obscenely. Lady Luna howls at his skinned knees. Embarrassing, I know, he thinks. But I don’t know why.

“Look,” she says. “I’m not very good with this stuff. Maybe we can’t do this.”

Maybe we can’t.

“We should reset,” she says. "Don't get discouraged."

Maybe. He doesn't know what that means. He isn’t discouraged, not exactly. Just tired. He needs to sleep. Badly. He can hardly keep his eyes open. He wishes someone would tell him to sleep, give him that permission. Force him to be weak. There's no time, he remembers and wishes he didn't remember. Everyone’s gone and corpses don’t sleep.

You are no corpse, the ocean warrior in his imagination says. You are a man, flesh and blood.

I am the man of a thousand faces, one of them yours, and they are all dead.

Not so bad, the swamp corpse in his imagination whispers. That ain’t so bad. Not the worst thing ever.

Not the worst thing ever. 

“Link,” she says, voice soft. “You have to get up.”

But his bones ache so terribly. And he can feel all the wrongness in his limbs and his throat and his insides. He feels nauseous.

She is warm and light on his arm, against his ear, nudging his cheek. He wishes he could see her. “Hey,” she says. “Link, are you listening?”

Let's just not think about it anymore, he thinks. Please. At least give me that. Give me that one mercy, if you really are four gods with seven names. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. It’s the smartest thing she’s ever said. It’s also meaningless. “I’m sorry this is so shitty.”

He shakes his head, jostling her. He looks at her. He can’t think of much.

Navi would tell her not to swear in front of a child.

His cheeks ache.

“Things are weighing down on you,” she says. He can see her now, a tiny circle, soft and light against his hands and cheeks. “You’re not yourself. And I’m sorry.”

He hasn’t been himself for a very long time. Possibly ever. He thinks about the four gods. They inspire nothing in him. He doesn’t feel much about it. He thinks, conveniently, of nothing.

One mercy.

Lady Luna screams down at him. She hollers and roils.

Nothing. I want nothing.

They have run out of time.

“Go to sleep,” she whispers to him, soft and light. “I’ll wake you up.”

He knows what is going to happen. He can't just pretend it isn't happening. He doesn’t understand why she has to get so upset about it. These things do happen, after all. Everybody goes through it at some point.

“Sh,” she whispers, soft and light.

He is young, with disjointed limbs and decaying skin. She must have seen the skin and pitied him. People do that. He doesn’t entirely understand. He thinks of everyone and everything. It is too enormous. His head is full. His eyes creak.

“Just forget about it,” she whispers, soft and light. “Just forget about it, just for a little bit. Just go to sleep. I’ll wake you up. I promise.”

You promise?

“I promise.”

Lady Luna wails and gnashes her teeth, snapping her jaw right above their heads.

“I promise.”

 

 


End file.
